


Homecoming

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, against the cold fanworks, airport angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the "Against the Cold" universe, Davos returns home to Stannis after four weeks in Lys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hedge_witch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedge_witch/gifts).



> This is written as a response to [this chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/805329/chapters/1519004). It's their airport reunion from Davos' point of view, and it's self-indulgent schmaltz, but it reminded me of the best of writing these guys.

There’s a monotony that sinks in after more than eight hours on an airplane; the stale, recycled air ceases to smell like feet and curry, the plastic taste of the water becomes the norm, the flight attendants’ smiles are all painted and re-painted on. The drone of the engines is the sound of forward motion, taking the place of footsteps or car motors or the white splash of a boat through water. Hurtling through time and space, the hum receded into pleasant background noise, an off-key accompaniment to the thrum of Davos’ mind that sang: home, home, home.

And Stannis. 

But he couldn’t think about his partner for long. The heavy pang of his heart and the coiling tension in his stomach were almost acidic when they combined the moment he thought of Stannis: _Stannis_ , he whispered, fogging the airplane window. The lady in the seat next to him was asleep, and so too the man on the other side of her, and so he said it, put his mouth up to the cold plastic and whispered, “I’m coming back now.” 

He knew how hard it had been for Stannis for them to be apart for so long. A month, almost, and whenever Davos had a spare moment during his trip he found himself cursing his decision to go. Davos had the benefit of travel, new places to see, people to meet and talk to and get drunk with. Stannis had only the routine of work, the people he mostly didn’t care for, and — if he was particularly unlucky — his unpleasant family to deal with. Davos should never have left him. _Next time you’re coming_ , he promised to the ocean below, to Stannis, wherever he was. _Next time and every time after that._

Just a few more hours now. There was no way Davos could sleep; paradoxically, he was too exhausted. It had taken an all-night packing binge and a four a.m. taxi ride to get him on this plane and now that he had thirteen hours to relax, he couldn’t. He tapped his fingers on the arm rest, he flipped restlessly through his magazines, he frowned at himself to think of Stannis seeing him like this. Stannis would surely have something to say about a person who wouldn’t take advantage of so many empty hours to just get some sleep. 

One hour to go and the passenger next to him, who inhabited that nebulous, crystalline space between “girl” and “woman,” was awake now and fiddling with her cell phone. She was smiling at whatever she was reading. Davos turned away, peering out the window again, looking for signs of land that would mean Westeros and Dragonstone and Stannis.

Fifteen minutes to go and the seat belt sign was on, altitude dropping, land resolving below through the mist and fog. Oh thank the gods, Davos thought, it looks cold. He had had enough of hot weather in Lys, the sweat-drenched days and humid nights on the houseboats he was working on. He wanted fog, he wanted rain, he wanted a warm arm around his shoulders and the scratch of a wool sweater against his cheek. Despite himself his eyes slipped closed — _now you want to sleep?_ he chastised himself — and he dozed through the tinny announcements about landing and electronic devices. When the plane touched the ground his eyes jerked open. He looked around half expecting Stannis to be there in the cabin. But no, he would have to run the security and customs gauntlets first. The knot in his gut tightened. It had been years since he had been questioned, even more years since he had been imprisoned but he had no love lost on law enforcement and expected he never would. Davos felt the sweat congealing on his palms as the passengers in the rows in front of him stood, stretched, made 300 simultaneous cell phone calls. He did not text or call Stannis. Even if he had wanted to, his sudden tremor would have made it impossible.

By the time Davos was off the plane into the jetway and the terminal, he had resigned himself to being called in for questioning, possibly detained and — who knows? — maybe thrown back in jail. The only thing about any of that that bothered him is it would delay his reunion with Stannis. With clenched teeth he marched down the long corridor with the others as if to the guillotine. 

Two customs officers were asking the usual questions, checking passports. Davos, whose smiles usually came so easily, plastered one on while he answered. Casual, friendly, but not overeager, he told himself. The resulting grimace pained him. “Do you live here?” “Yes, at Dragonstone, sir.” “Where were you?” “Lys, sir.” “Oh, nice weather, huh?” “Yes, sir.” “Quite hot, right?” “Yes sir.”

The second officer brought the harder questions, although of course Davos’ answers were straightforward enough. “What were you doing in Lys?” she asked. 

“I was with a group working on restoring houseboats. Ma’am.”

“Oh,” and the curtain of apathy fell, and Davos knew he was safe. “Well, welcome home.” 

“Thank you. Sir. Ma’am.” He had never felt so lucky in his life. When he let himself breathe, he had no idea how long he had been holding the shallow air. 

Then it was just a few more meters to where the crowd stood waiting. Davos, whose adrenaline surge had left him limp and enervated, felt another wave of jitters coming on. What if Stannis were not there? What if he, Davos, had told him the wrong arrival gate? He resisted the sudden urge to run, with his heavy duffel over his shoulder. Just a few more feet — and there he was, and Davos’ heart melted at the sight, Stannis pressed hard against the barrier separating them — his eyes wide and oh, that rare smile when he met Davos’ gaze, all for him.

The whirl of the airport, the tight tension of the last hour, and the melancholy and longing of the past weeks all fell away when he stepped into Stannis’ arms. He buried his face in Stannis’ neck and breathed in, and it was the scent of fog, of comfort and home and the granting of all his wishes.

“Gods,” he whispered into Stannis’ skin, warm and sweet, “you cannot know how much I have missed you.”


End file.
